Sanity and Seduction
by Lilyx1021
Summary: Michael and Nikita, back to Division.
1. Chapter 1

"They're beautiful", she murmured, grazing the many weapons with the tips of her fingertips. She tapped her blood red lips with a single, graceful finger, eyes roving over the collection of pistols and sniper rifles.

"What do you think, Michael?" she asks, glancing toward him. He was leaning against the glass counter, mindlessly fiddling with his tie.

"Mmm?"

She sighs, exasperated. "For the mission, remember?"

He slowly leans forward, tapping two pistols with a blunt fingernail. "A Beretta 92FS as the baby. They're small, easy to conceal. Maybe a Sig P220 for your main."

"Okay then," she replies. "Wrap 'em up Trev." She brushes her hand against Michael's arm. "I'll wait in the car," she murmurs, before turning and sauntering away.

Her heels click cheerfully away on the hardwood floors. Silently, Trevor eases each pistol into its leather case.

"I assume Percy will...will be covering the costs of Nikita's new tools?" Trevor asks, his hand twitching suspiciously toward the Beretta.

"Don't even think about it, Trev," Michael snarls. "Your payment is me not loading a magazine into your face and Percy keeping your sorry ass out of North Korea's hands."

"Of course…of course, so gracious of Percy to help with my…uh…my predicament." Trevor manages a wan smile before he slides the pistols slowly across the glass counter.

"Always good doing business with you," Michael smiles dangerously, clapping a visually trembling Trevor on the back. He strolls away, chuckling under his breath.

As soon as he settles into the car, Nikita snatches her pistols away from Michael. He arches an eyebrow and she smiles back guiltily.

"I don't get new toys that often," she admits, sliding her fingers delicately over her purchases.

"That's not true. We get in new male recruits all the time," he smiles back.

"You know what I mean. Percy's being a cheap ass."

He pats her bare knee reassuringly. "I know."

The touch shoots up her thigh and she feels alive, every nerve in her body tingling. Already she can sense a warmth and an ache blooming in her stomach. Hurriedly, she jerks her leg away and tightens her arms around the pouches to prevent herself from reaching toward his neck, imagining her hands curling around his cheek, lips brushing against his ear...

_Shit_. She knew it was wrong. But God, the man just exuded sex. A shiver wrinkled its way up her spine and Michael glanced down at her. She flushed; embarrassed that he had detected the tiny movement. He slid his suit jacket around her shoulders and clamped his arm over her shoulder when she tried to protest.

"Thanks." She said tersely. "You don't have to baby me, I'm not that fragile."

"We wouldn't want you to get sick right before the mission." He tightened his arm around her shoulders, pulling her into his side. She sucked in a quick breath and her muscles tightened automatically.

"C'mon, Nik, relax." His hand rubbed comfortingly against her flushed skin. "It'll be another two hours till we get back. You may as well get some sleep. We wouldn't want Amanda to go bawling to Percy about you looking like a panda."

She cocked an eyebrow. "A panda?"

"Yup. A ridiculously thin and furless panda, but a panda nevertheless."

She lightly punches him in the stomach. "Funny. Just cause I'm Asian."

"Shut up and sleep." He brushes a hand to her cheek, massaging in comforting circles.

"Mmm," she replies, already half snoozing. Burrowing herself into Michael's side, she slowly drifted off to sleep.

Michael waited until her breathing slowed, until her furrowed eyebrows had smoothed themselves out. He brushed her hair away from her face, and gazed down at the most perfect woman in his world. Her lips were parted, a tiny smile playing across her lips. She was beautiful. He already knew that he was in too deep, but there would never be any turning back. Leaning down, he slowly dusted a kiss over her forehead. _Sleep well Nikki_.


	2. Chapter 2

She was a fighter. A survivor. He knew that the moment he met her. Most other recruits stayed groggy and muddled in their first ten minutes at Division. They huddled on the stark white cotton sheets, hands wrapped around their knees, trembling and fearful. But not her. She had woken up from her drug induced slumber with all the ferocity of a tigress, fists pummeling and feet lashing out, catching a surprised Michael squarely in the stomach. He grunted and stumbled back, before catching her arms and pinning her to the bed.

"You're going to be a handful," he breathed, slightly winded.

"You have no idea," she spat back, almond eyes narrowing. Even in her state of drug withdrawal, she was mesmerizing. Her body hummed with electricity underneath his and he hastily pulled back out of their intimate position.

"Who the hell are you?" she demanded hoarsely, sitting up cautiously.

"My name's Michael. I work for the government." Same words he said to every recruit. Shifting slightly, he leaned forward. "You're going to be all right. I'll make sure of it." His blue eyes bored into hers, genuineness ringing in every syllable. Definitely not the customary words meant for every recruit.

As her training progressed, Nikita was nothing if not exceptional. Her body was easily honed into a killing machine. She learned how to disarm, how to incapacitate, how to murder without batting a single mascara-coated eyelash. Her fingers easily memorized the intricate contours of a submachine gun, her lips learned how to shape themselves into an alluring—but absolutely fake— smile.

She passed all of her agent tests, albeit the ones involving computers and hacking into their complicated databases. However, her close friendship with the creator of Shadow net himself easily vaulted her over to the passing side. Her graduation had been one of the top in Division history, and she rose quickly within its hierarchy.

Even Percy noticed. Nikita began to grow on him, using her charm and deadly abilities to earn her spot, easily usurping Michael's position as resident favorite.

"You're wanted in Operations. Now."

Nikita glanced up languidly from the novel that she had her nose buried in to see Michael standing at the door, a garment bag clutched in one hand. She sighed and tossed the book onto her bed. Finding out what would happen to poor Katniss was going to have to wait.

Michael tossed the garment bag at her and she easily caught it, unzipping it in the process. She grimaced, holding up a severely Amanda-like blouse and pencil skirt.

She threw him an 'are-you-serious?' look and made a tiny, disgusted sound in the back of her throat before hurriedly pulling on the offending outfit.

"You have to look presentable. Amanda specifically requested for you not to be in recruit gear," he responded. Grabbing her hand, he towed them out toward Operations, shoes clicking impatiently on the metal floors.

However, instead of walking into Birkoff's nerd cave, Michael veered right, dragging them both into Percy's office.

"Hello Nikita," said Percy, not even glancing up from his computer. "How nice of you to finally join us."

The room was icy; blasts of arctic air flooded the space from a silent air conditioner. Nikita shivered in her thin blouse; already she could feel frosty claws burying themselves in her goose-bumped skin.

Amanda was standing behind Percy, her manicured fingers delicately draped over his chair. Slowly, Nikita slid into one of the oxblood chairs in front of Percy's massive oak desk, knotting and unknotting her trembling fingers. She took comfort in the fact that Michael had positioned himself behind her, emanating warmth and reassurance. Lacing his fingers together, Percy leaned forward and smiled at her, yellowing teeth gleaming faintly in the dimness. It was a smile that a wolf would give its prey before it moved in for the kill.

"You have been given a rare opportunity. One of our agents fell out of an op that was supposed to be set in several months. This will be your chance to prove yourself—to us and to your country."

Amanda leaned forward, placing a photograph on the table, depicting a man in his early 30s, dressed in a simple attire of Levis and a white open-neck T-shirt. Aviators sat atop of his dark curly locks and a slender gold chain was draped delicately around his neck. His wide brown eyes were framed with dark lashes that complimented his tanned features. From what Nikita could tell, he was awfully cute. She heard Michael suck in a sharp breath.

"The op requires a young woman, someone with superior talents, someone who can…well…perform under pressure." Amanda smiled at Nikita with all the warmth of a glacier. "The mark is Alfonso Cosimo. On the outside, he is just the spoiled, playboy heir to a bistro and nightclub empire. However, he also dabbles in arms dealing. In the past few months, he's been making suspicious transactions within Estonia and the Ukraine."

Nikita nodded slowly. "So it's just an info op. You want me to go in, get the information, then— "

"It's not that simple, Nikita." Amanda interrupted. "This is deep cover. Deeper than anything you've seen or done before. You're going to have to get into more than just his file cabinet."

The innuendo hung ominously in the air. Confusion still sat in Nikita's wrinkled eyebrows until Michael interrupted.

"You're sending her on a Valentine mission." His voice came from next to Nikita's ear. He was leaning forward, a blazing anger radiating from his scorching blue eyes. "Why wasn't I informed? And why her?"

"Nikita fits the bill. And why not Michael? Do you not wish to see one of your recruits succeed?" Amanda asked, one perfectly groomed eyebrow arched. Tension between the two ricocheted off the walls and congealed in midair.

Choosing to break the frosty silence, Percy leaned forward. "Nikita _will_ go on this mission. And to give us all some comfort, so will you, Michael."

Turning away, he resumed typing on his computer. "Nikita, Amanda will fill you in on the remaining details and the tools you'll need."

Taking his final statement as a dismissal, Nikita and Michael hurriedly removed themselves from the room.


	3. Chapter 3

"No, not black."

Amanda raised her eyebrows in surprise, an uncommon occurrence. "Why not? Black's your go to color. This one would go fantastically with the Yves St. Laurent pumps."

Nikita studied herself in the full length mirror. "I'll be at a night club. The lights will be dim, no one can see me if I'm in black."

"Good eye. Fine, try the Herve Leger." Amanda plucked a red gown out of the enormous rack and handed it to Nikita. "Call me if you need help," she said, waving her behind the changing curtain.

As soon as the curtain slid closed, Michael strolled in, hands deep in his pockets. "Finished?" he asks. "I have to take her to the Armory. She needs to gear up."

As if to answer Michael's question, Nikita stepped out from behind the drape. She was a vision in the severe whiteness of Amanda's room. A drop of blood on snow.

She catches Michael's gaze and blushes, slightly self-conscious. "Whaddya think?"

He slowly ambles over, eyes roving up and down. Her eyes are sparkling, flushed cheeks complimenting her dress. The frock was fitted, smoothly contoured to her body's figure and outrageously short, stopping several inches past the curve of her hip. He gently lays a hand on her waist and Nikita's breath hitches in her throat. She glances up at him from under her lashes, but his eyes are turned toward Amanda, his expression unreadable.

"Maybe try to lengthen the hem a bit." He coughs a little, wind pipe still feeling incredibly tight. "Wouldn't want her thigh holster to be exposed when she's dancing with the mark." He points at the hem and glances furtively at the long column of unclothed thigh beneath it.

"Mmm, perhaps you're right. I'll call up Christian to get a backup," she muses, more to herself than to Michael and Nikita. His hand is still resting on her waist. "You," she suddenly points at Nikita. "Change."

Turning to Michael she motions towards the swishing curtain. "Keep her here until I get back. She can try on other items, but I'd prefer to keep it in the Herve Leger collection."

With a graceful nod, she turns and marches out, ebony heels clacking. After a moment, Nikita pokes her head out from behind the curtain.

"Is the crazy bitch gone?" she asks, glancing around. "Awesome. Here, can you unzip this for me?" She turned around and pulled her hair out of the zipper's teeth, exposing her tanned upper back.

Michael swallowed. Suddenly the room seemed incredibly stuffy. Slowly, agonizingly, he pulled the zipper down, trying not to touch her bare skin. His knuckles barely graze her spine and she stifles a tiny sigh as an electric jolt zaps up her back.

Awkwardly stepping behind the curtain, she slips into a simple gray sweater and black leggings. Coming out, she stands off to the side, looking at him uneasily.

"Nikita, I…" He clears his throat awkwardly, and then slowly takes a shaky step away from temptation. "Amanda wants you to stay here until she gets back," he says, trying to ease the awkward tension.

She nods, not looking at him and not trusting what will come out of her mouth if she opens it.

"Ok then, I'll see you later, Nik." He slams the door behind him on his way out.

Nikita collapses in an armchair, letting out the enormous breath that had been tugging at her lungs. She leaned forward, bracing splayed hands on her knees. His scent still lingered in the air, whispered around her. Closing her eyes, she prayed for a release from the dull ache thudding in her chest.


	4. Chapter 4

**I meant to upload this chapter instead of the one about Mikita's awkward plane flight.. still hope you enjoy! :)**

Nikita knocked softly on the door. Hoping, praying that—

"Come in." Amanda's chilly, serene voice came through the door.

_Damn_. For goodness sake, she would rather be in Birkoff's nerd cave unraveling hacker codes than be tutored on the 'art of seduction' by Amanda.

The door clicked open ominously as Nikita hesitantly stepped into the room. She skidded to a halt, knees locked, when she saw who was standing next to Division's main interrogator.

"Michael has so graciously agreed to be our guinea pig of the day," Amanda said, resting a hand on his shoulder.

He didn't look very gracious. A faint grimace was playing on his lips and his hands were crossed tightly, clenched fists burying themselves in his armpits.

"He will only be observing for our first half. There's a dress behind the curtain dear, go change." She lightly pushed Michael into an armchair and pointed Nikita towards the swaying drape. He only seemed too happy to be out of Amanda's way.

Nikita emerged in a skin tight black dress, cut off at her thigh. Her 3-inch stilettos clicked softly as she strolled toward Amanda.

Michael cleared his throat. "Why do I need to be here?"

Amanda shot him an icy glare. "I want you to see the transformation. See how much more she is capable of."

He nodded, though still not understanding.

"First, remember that appearance is critical," Amanda said, sitting Nikita in front of her vanity and pointing her face towards the mirror. "Keep your back straight, chest slightly out, head up. Smooth glide to the hips when you walk. Do not look straight on, only from the corner of your eyes. When you stand, keep your right leg slightly tilted in. Always keep a small smile on your lips and …" She continued to instruct, fingers painstakingly pulling and pushing Nikita towards perfection.

Michael did as Amanda told him to. He observed Nikita. To him, she had always been perfect; she didn't need to be changed into a professional hooker. Still, he watched as Amanda coaxed her lips into perfect, empty smiles, rearranged her posture into that of a supermodel's, procured smoky glances from those perfect doe-like eyes. He watched her transform from awkward recruit to sensuous seductress. The room unexpectedly became smaller, more oppressive. He tugged at the neck of his suit, suddenly uncomfortable.

"Mmmm," smiled Amanda, completely satisfied. "We're done."

Nikita turned away from the mirror, briefly content. Both of them had been staring into its depths for the last half hour, conjuring her face to reorganize itself into a myriad of expressions, ranging from chaste innocence to pure tantalizing temptation.

"Michael, we're ready for you," Amanda called, motioning him over.

Nikita and Michael stood facing each other, Amanda between them. "A touch can mean many things," she began. Taking Nikita's hand, she placed it on Michael's arm. "You want to gradually pull it down, like this…"

And so began the most tortuous hour of Michael's life.


	5. Chapter 5

"How long will the flight be?"

"We just took off, why does it matter?" Michael raised his eyebrows, lips caught up in his trademark smirk. "You want to know how long you get to stay in an enclosed space with me?"

Her eyes narrowed. "I want to know how long I'll have to be stuck in an enclosed space with you," she retorted.

"Ouch."

She rolled her eyes. "Just tell me."

"Why are you in such a hurry to find out? Enjoy the perks now; Division went all out on this. I've never seen Percy cough up so much money for an op," Michael remarked, leaning back in the leather seat.

"That is true," Nikita replied thoughtfully. "Maybe that's why he's been in such a grumpy mood. All that cash usually used to cushion his ass is gone."

"Oh, Lord," Michael grumbled into his Sky Mall magazine, while Nikita chuckled.

She swatted him on the arm. "C'mon, you know I'm right."

"A little," he conceded.

She shot him a gentle, sweet smile and a strange, tender expression appeared on his face. The recycled air in the cabin thickened as their eyes locked. Slowly, they both leaned forward. His fingers met the sleeve of her jacket, grazing over the leather. Her hand was on his arm, fingers gradually constricting the fabric. Their lips were two feet apart, then one foot, then six inches, then—

"Anything to drink?" A smiling flight attendant stood in the aisle, completely unaware of Michael and Nikita's intimate position.

They both immediately broke away from the others gaze, coughing loudly to cover the awkwardness that had immediately exploded.

"Umm, I'll just have some coffee," mumbled Michael, rubbing at his temples.

"Sure, dearie," replied the flight attendant, continuing to grin, and Nikita hated her for it.

"I'll have one too."

"Alright then, cream or sugar?" She glanced down, practically beaming. Why couldn't the woman stop smiling?

"Black coffee." They both said, starting when the other spoke.

Finally, after setting down two steaming china cups, the flight attendant ambled away.

They simultaneously reached for their cups and drew in long sips. Nikita immediately swallowed, letting the scalding liquid burn some sense into her brain. She set the cup back onto its saucer, immediately embarrassed when it rattled piercingly.

His hand brushed her elbow. "Nikita, I…"

She shook her head at him, allowing a curtain of hair to fall between them. "It's fine Michael."

"No, I should…"

"Don't," she snarled, the single word scorching her throat as it tumbled out. "Please…just don't."


	6. Chapter 6

"Name, please?" asked the woman behind the counter, batting her eyelashes ever so subtly at Michael.

"Sean Langston." Michael replied, politely ignoring her understated advances. Turning from behind him, Nikita shot the woman a death glare.

After many agonizing hours, their plane had finally landed in Italy. Michael had herded Nikita past Customs to a limousine waiting to chauffeur them to their hotel. The charged tension between them still sparked with intense electricity. After arriving at their swanky residence, Michael had breezed in, conversing with the hotel staff in fluent Italian.

The attendant's eyebrows shot up as she studied her computer screen. "Staying in the Penthouse Suite?" she asked, eyeing Michael and Nikita suspiciously. "Sean and Madeline Langston?"

"I'm here for business and vacation," Michael replied smoothly. "Killing two birds with one stone!"

"Of course," the attendant said, handing him two keys. "We hope you enjoy your stay at the _Hotel Cipriani Palazzo Vendrami_!"

The journey up their private elevator to the top floor was silent. Michael tried to catch her gaze, but she turned her head away, pretending to admire the paintings hung on the mirrored walls of the elevator. After a few seconds it became increasingly difficult. How could she focus on a damn bowl of fruit when Michael kept throwing looks at her?

A ding mercifully saved them both and they ventured into the vast room. Their luggage was already piled on the floor next to a massive, granite fireplace, crackling with fresh logs. An enormous sofa dominated the living room space, with a frosted glass coffee table set before it. Glass doors led to two terraces complete with olive and lemon trees as natural umbrellas. The balcony provided a panoramic view of Venice, the St. Mark's Campanile gleaming in the distance. Nikita grabbed Michael's hand, ignoring his sharp intake of breath, and dragged him off to further explore their suite. They finished their journey in the massive bedroom, where Nikita collapsed on the king-sized bed.

"I love this," she whispered softly, closing her eyes. She sensed the bed dip slightly next to her. "Nice perks to the job."

"Nikita." Michael's tone was gentle, with a tiny hint of sadness threaded through it.

Her eyes snapped open. "Don't ruin the moment."

Ruffling her hair, he sat up. "I'll try not to," he laughed while watching her furiously comb out the bird's nest her hair had transformed into. "But, we are on a mission. First contact will be tonight."

"Mmm," she sighed into the down pillows. "Should I wear the red one tonight? So he gets a good impression of me?"

"No," he said quickly, his hands automatically clenching.

"What? Why not?"

"We're going to a club," he quickly improvised. "The dress is too classy. And you want to save the best for last."

She threw him a suspicious glance, but gave in. "Okay then. I'll go unpack."

Hopping up, she skipped towards the door, disappearing into the hallway. Michael collapsed on the bed, hands rubbing over his eyes. Suddenly, he shot up, eyes flickering around madly. He had just realized something. Their suite—however magnificent and expensive—only contained one bed.


	7. Chapter 7

**Two more weeks until April 7th! Anyway, please read and review! It always makes my day :)**

The nightclub was throbbing with music, heavy bass causing the floors to vibrate. A rich aroma of sweat and musk perfumed the air. Neon lights were flashing around the room, bouncing off various dancers. Michael was sitting at the bar, hands clutched around a glass of whiskey. His eyes followed Cosimo, who was—according to the bartender—sitting at his usual spot, surrounded by his usual ring of women.

"Target acquired. Move in," he ordered softly, barely moving his lips. At his command, Nikita entered the room. She was clad in a silky green halter top with leather shorts. Three-inch heels had lengthened her slender legs and blessed her with a sensual, sauntering walk. She was beyond belief. Strolling ever so slowly past Cosimo's booth, she approached the bar. Out of the corner of his eye, Michael watched Cosimo glance up and do a double-take, momentarily paralyzed by the heavenly sight before him. Nikita had casually seated herself at the bar, one heel dangling coquettishly off her foot. A glass of scotch had been set before her by the visually shaken bartender and she idly swirled its contents. Cosimo's eyes gleamed as he shook off any remaining women, striding quickly toward Nikita.

"It's not that often I see a pretty lady like you in my club," he said in a throaty, lightly-accented voice, seating himself next to her. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the bar, head turned toward her.

Nikita tensed slightly. She could practically hear Amanda's calculated words echoing in her head. _The pursuit will cement the catch. Push him away, make him want you. _

She slowly shifted her position, slightly inclining her body away from him. Raising her eyebrows, she calmly took on an expression of utmost disdain. "I'm sorry, but who are you?"

"My name is Alfonso Cosimo. My family owns this club." He smiled at her, obviously sure that the fact would impress her. All at once, Michael wanted to laugh at the poor man's efforts and punch his smirking face.

"Right. Okay, nice to meet you Mr. Cosimo." She replied, turning away slightly.

How odd. His expression narrowed as his thick, dark eyebrows came together. After finding out who he was, women usually threw themselves at him. Hell, any girl in all of Italy would be groveling at his feet just to have his babies.

"Call me Alfonso. How about I invite you to my booth?" he invited. He lazily leaned in to whisper to her. "It's _very_ exclusive."

Nikita glanced over at his booth, which was still overflowing with women in brazenly trampy outfits. Obviously not _that_ exclusive. She smiled contemptuously, before shifting away from him again. "No, thank you. But it was nice meeting you."

"Wait, wait," he called after her, catching her arm. Clearly, he was beyond desperate. "Will you be here tomorrow?"

Underneath her calm mask, Nikita was reeling. The man was practically throwing himself at her. She couldn't believe how easy the mission was going. Winking at him vaguely, she replied, "I'll think about it."

Alfonso let out a choked laugh. "_Fantastico. _Until we meet again, then…?"

Nikita subtly glanced at Michael. He was staring into his empty glass, but then nodded discreetly. "Madeline." She finally said, tossing her hair behind her shoulder.

Sliding the business card of the _Hotel Cipriani Palazzo Vendrami_ to him, she bent her lips toward his ear. "Hopefully, you'll be able to find me after you've finished…" she glanced at the booth still crawling with girls. "…with your other business."

She exited the club, flashing Cosimo a tiny grin. Once outside in the sweet, Mediterranean air, she hailed a cab. Surveying the crowded cobblestone streets, she could barely make out the dim outline of Michael inconspicuously following her on a black Vespa. After watching her enter the winged doors of the hotel, he chose to circle the block before heading back. By the time Michael had crossed into the suite, Nikita was already in the marble and gold encrusted bathroom. Collapsing on the bed with a huff, Michael switched on the TV, flipping through the channels until he found CNN.

His phone buzzed violently just as Nikita stepped out of the bathroom. She chucked it at him and he easily snatched it out of the air. Glancing up to thank her, his breath stuck in his throat. She was wearing a black silk robe, open to reveal a lacy bra and thong. Long, silken strands of hair brushed his arm as she settled next to him on the bed.

"H-hello?" he hurriedly stuttered into the mouth piece, his vocal cords still wedged together.

"Michael, how did first contact go?" Amanda's impassive voice filtered in through the phone's ear piece.

"Fine."

"Is she meeting the target again tomorrow?"

"Nikita gave him the hotel's card. Told him to come find her instead."

He could practically feel the surprise in Amanda's voice and the cogs turning in her head. "Oh…well…I suppose that was an incredibly clever move. To have him initiate the chase. Hm…"

"Anything else?"

"No. Percy wanted me to check in on you two. We will not be calling again until the mission is complete. Birkoff will be on hand for any emergencies. Keep track of her. Do _not_ let anything jeopardize the mission."

"Understood."

He smashed the end button and tossed the phone onto the bed. God, he hated that bitchy ice queen. Always ordering him about and speaking to him in a tone that made him feel like an imbecile.

Looking down at him from the TV, Nikita patted him on the head like a dog. "It's 'kay. I hate her too."

He grinned at her, smacking her hand away, but also admiring the fact that she knew immediately what he was thinking. His eyes drifted away, before coming back to rest again on her. Moaning inwardly, he realized that she was still half-naked.

"Go put on some clothes." He pushed her off the bed towards the closet.

"Geez Michael," she snorted, rolling her eyes. "It's like you're going to go into cardiac arrest from seeing me in my underwear."

She was probably right.

Pulling off the robe, she tossed it lightly over an armchair. He suddenly had difficulty swallowing. Feigning interest at the TV, he tried to subtly wipe away the sweat that had instantaneously blossomed on his palms.

As two o'clock rolled around, Nikita began to pace, eyes staring blankly at nothing. She was in one of the most beautiful cities in the world, but she could barely pay any attention to the glittering landscape. The most ridiculous feeling in the entire world was sitting in her stomach, twisting her entrails into knots. She was _nervous_. Nervous about what she was going to have to do for the mission, nervous about failing, nervous about being cancelled. But mostly nervous about sharing a bed with Michael. At the moment, he was in the bathroom and she could hear the pound of water on marble floors.

The glass door slid open smoothly. Stopping from her pacing, Nikita glanced over to see Michael with a towel slung on his hips.

She snickered, trying to still her throbbing heart. Cocking an eyebrow, she planted her hands on her hips. "And you're the one telling me to go put on some clothes?"

"No," he grinned back. "I'm the one telling you to go to sleep. Long day ahead for you tomorrow."

The thought of tomorrow immediately sobered her. Sure, she would probably spend all day being chased down by Italy's most eligible bachelor. But she would be doing it all alone, without her mentor's supportive presence guiding her.

She sighed gustily, and then swept past him, plunking herself in the middle of the bed.

"Woah there," said Michael. He reached out to catch her shoulders, dragging her toward him. "Greedy much? You don't get the whole bed. Pick a side."

She raised her eyebrows in mock surprise. "What kind of a gentleman are you? I see that Amanda's taught you nothing. Aren't you supposed to be sleeping on the couch?"

Smiling wickedly, he leaned forward, until she could feel his breath curling in the air around her face. "Why do you assume that I'm the gentleman?"

She snorted. "Not anymore. Why don't you pick first?"

"Why don't you?" he retorted.

"Ladies first." She snapped back.

"Are you really sure about that?" he asked, his hand drifting suspiciously toward the towel still wrapped around his waist.

"God, Michael, yuck." she protested, plastering her hands over her eyes. "Fine, fine I pick the right side."

And with that, she promptly burrowed herself under the sleek sheets. Stealing Michael's pillow, she propped it under her own, grinning impishly. He rolled his eyes, dimmed the lights, and then walked into the living room.

"I'll be back in a minute," he called. "Just going to check in on Birkoff."

When he returned, he spotted a slumbering Nikita curled in a ball on the left side of the bed. He slid in on her other side, glad that the sheets were already warm from the body that had been occupying it. He tugged at the pillow under her head, chuckling when she let out a low 'mmph'. She turned toward him, flying fist nearly reaching his face, before he caught it smoothly and pinned it behind her back.

"Not a chance," he murmured into the darkness.

"Tease." She replied, pulling her arm out of his grasp.

Slowly, they both drifted off to sleep. Sometime during the night, Nikita awoke to a large, warm object pressing against her back. Shifting slightly, she turned to see Michael's face buried against her shoulder blade. Lifting a finger, she let it slide softly over Michael's cheek before turning around again and tunneling back into her pillow. Behind her, Michael's lips curved up in an unconscious smile.


	8. Chapter 8

**Thank you guys for all your reviews, subscriptions, and favorites! It means the world to me :)**

The glorious Italian sun scorched the bedroom, sending yellow blazes flashing off the walls. Nikita slammed a pillow over her head just as the room's phone began to shrill obnoxiously.

Michael sat up groggily and pulled the receiver from its cradle. "Hello?" he asked, voice still husky from sleep.

"_Buon giorno_! This is your eight o'clock wake up call." A very cheerful voice on the end chirruped happily.

"Thanks." Michael snappishly grunted into the receiver.

"Also, a _Signore_ Cosimo called in for _Signorina_ Madeline. He asks her to be ready by ten o'clock."

"Thank you," Michael repeated, before dropping the phone back on its hook and his head back into the mattress.

"Time to get up?" Nikita mumbled against Michael's pillow.

"Mmhmm," he replied, rolling up out of bed. His eyes narrowed when he saw Nikita's face still buried in his pillow. "By the way, that pillow you're drooling all over? Yeah, that was supposed to be mine."

She grinned playfully up at him. "You slept just fine without it."

He sighed, "Just get up. Your sweetie wants you to be ready by ten."

He was immediately pinned against the wall as Nikita flew up, smashing her elbow against his throat. "He is _not_ my sweetie," she snarled at him.

Turning away, she flounced into the bathroom, slamming the door in the process.

"Touchy," he muttered under his breath.

Thirty minutes later, Nikita emerged. "How do I look?" she asked, twirling.

Michael glanced up idly, then choked slightly. "Y-you look…nice."

She was dressed in a rich purple summer dress that clung to her torso before flaring out in a wide skirt around her thighs. Her hair tumbled down the tanned skin of her back in rich, breezy waves. Her bronzed skin was glowing and she emanated a smoldering vitality that was almost tangible. He could practically smell the intoxicating perfume wafting off of her skin. Cosimo would be putty in her hands.

At exactly ten o'clock, Cosimo rolled up to the hotel in a white Rolls Royce. Nikita was sitting in an armchair in the lobby, casually flipping through an Italian tabloid magazine. Spotting her through the hotel's glass doors, Cosimo waved at her merrily. Standing up and stretching lazily, Nikita pushed open the door and sauntered down the hotel's stone steps toward him.

"You gave me a chance," he said, grinning at her.

"I did," she replied, returning his smile.

"You look magnificent by the way," he said, conducting her towards the back of the hotel.

Throwing a quick look back at the gleaming car sitting in a parking space, she asked, "Will I be riding with you?"

"No, you will be riding alone."

To answer her questioning glance, he took her elbow and steered her around the corner. She let out an involuntary squeal. Two gleaming Vespas stood there, one black and one silver. Identical helmets sat on the leather saddles.

She beamed, running her hands over the sleek metal. "They're beautiful."

He helped her on, placing her hands over the controls. "Want to give it a whirl?"

She smirked. "Absolutely."

The two vehicles roared out of the hotel's driveway, their owners' echoing laughter slowly fading in the hotel's parking lot.

From above, Michael watched the couple. Sharp stabs of jealousy pierced his heart as he watched Alfonso slide his arm under Nikita's. More poisonous thoughts flowed from his mind when Alfonso delicately slid his arm around her waist to help her onto the scooter. He watched as the duo mounted their Vespas and held hands briefly before Nikita took off, closely tailed by Alfonso.

After several minutes cruising around the city, they stopped at a little café. Hopping off her Vespa, Nikita pulled off her helmet, shaking out her hair. She heard the tiny purr of an engine and Alfonso slid in next to her.

"You can actually follow directions," he said, a wide grin crinkling up his eyes.

"I usually pay attention when there's a maniac yelling and waving at me in the middle of a crowded street."

He laughed at that. "Maniac, indeed."

Taking her hand, he pulled her under the shaded canopy of the restaurant and sat them at a miniscule table. She watched the uncertainty in his eyes change to unwavering resolve. He took a deep breath and began. "I really like you Madeline, so I want to show you the best of Italy. Not the big stuff that every tourist sees. The things that only true Italians know."

She leaned forward, batting her eyelashes teasingly. "You would spill trade secrets to an outsider?"

"For you? Definitely."

Even though she was trying to stay emotionless, her heart couldn't help but melt a little. He was truly genuine about his feelings, something she hadn't expected to see emerge so quickly in their 'relationship'. He was nothing like the crazed arms dealer Amanda had made him out to be.

"I hope you don't mind, but I've already planned out our entire day." He said, taking her hand and toying with her fingers nervously, stroking each slender digit. "But you won't be disappointed. I have the best of Italy sandwiched into one day."

"I don't mind at all." She leaned forward to place a kiss against his cheek. Meeting his eyes, she sighed softly. "But I don't understand why you'd be willing to waste an entire day on some regular American girl."

"You're not some regular American girl. You're not groveling at my feet or trying to steal my fame the moment I look away." He exhaled slowly. "It's a nice change."

A waiter set two steaming plates down and poured out two glasses of _Dolcetto_. Taking one flute, Alfonso raised it towards Nikita.

"_Evviva_."

"Cheers," she replied, taking a sip.


	9. Chapter 9

**AN: To the people who asked: no, this won't turn smutty. mostly because i suck at writing it. ._. **

**Please R&R and enjoy! :)**

"Wow," she breathed. It was the only syllable that could flow out of her lips. _Wow_. Alfonso's house rose up before them as they crested the hill. It was an enormous Italian palazzo, pale marble columns gleaming in the silky moonlight. The whole courtyard was flooded with light, radiance beaming from every enormous-paned window.

After an afternoon of cavorting around Rome—including getting ridiculously drunk off of Italy's famous _Barbaresco_—Alfonso had invited Nikita back to his place.

"It's just a little place. Don't have high expectations." He'd said, lips quirked up in a crooked smile. "Would you like to see it?"

_Complete the mission_. The mantra sounded off in her head, so naturally she had accepted.

Extending his hand to her, Alfonso directed them up the colossal steps. Suddenly, he stooped down and scooped her up into his arms. She gasped lightly, and then let out a carefree laugh. It echoed across the silent terrace, the sound fluttering into the air.

He set her gently on two feet once his own had crested the top of the steps, before pulling her close, pressing his lips to her ear. "What do you think?"

"Wow," she repeated, eyes still wide with amazement.

"Wait until you see inside." He reluctantly released her, keeping only her hand entwined in his.

He guided them into the house, ascending several flights of stairs. Nikita couldn't keep track of what room was used for what, or how this passageway led to where.

After hours—or so Nikita thought—of trekking through the house, they finally arrived at Alfonso's bedroom. The space was cozy, earthy tones characterizing the walls and furniture. A massive round bed complete with silk sheets took center stage.

Nikita poked at the bed with her index finger, giggling slightly. "A round bed? What are you, Hugh Hefner?"

Still keeping a hold of her hand, Alfonso returned her smile. "I'm a bit of a romantic. Wait, until you see this."

He flung open a pair of doors at the other end of his room, revealing a wide expanse of marble balcony. Moon beams bounced off the white stone, throwing shafts of milky light onto Nikita and Alfonso.

His arms encircled her waist and he rested his chin on her shoulder. "Now, you can tell me what you think."

Humming contentedly, she wrapped her hands around the arms pressing against her stomach. "Wow," she insisted.

Spinning her around, Alfonso took her shoulders and pulled her closer to him. He closed the distance between them and—like a fantastically clichéd romance movie—pressed his lips gingerly against hers. She kissed him back, still remembering every searing 'lesson' that Amanda had given her with Michael. Hoisting her up, Alfonso whisked them back into his bedroom and they tumbled onto his bed. Sensual kisses licked themselves down her neck and she closed her eyes, willing herself away.

The blank face of the clock on the wall mocked him. The hours had rolled by slowly, each ticking second hand agonizingly painful. It was now three in the morning and there had been no message from Nikita. He hadn't expected her to land the mark so quickly, hadn't expected that her acting skills were that perfect, hadn't expected that she would be in someone else's bed tonight. He growled ferociously at the clock, hands clenching into iron fists. Her black satin robe was still draped over the armchair. It swayed slowly, taunting him. He closed his eyes, silently begging the night to pass swiftly.

Nikita awoke to a ridiculously hot arm wrapped around her chest. Her eyes flickered open and she sat up slowly, stretching luxuriously. Slowly turning around, she saw Alfonso's face still trapped within the draw of sleep. Tears pricked her eyes when she realized that Michael had been in his position yesterday. Raising a thumb, she gently allowed it to glide over his skin, until it reached the base of his larynx. She felt for his pulse, then with bone-crushing strength, rammed the digit into his throat. The soft flesh depressed and she sighed softly.

Slipping out from under his arm, she immediately went for her dress which was still pooled on the floor. Pulling out her phone from one of the dress' many hidden pockets, she called the only number in her contact list.

Michael shot out of bed the moment his phone began to vibrate. Flipping it open, he pressed it to his ear, desperately hoping. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," she replied. "He's still asleep, and he'll stay that way for about three more hours."

He chuckled softly. "I'll head up there and help you search after I get your coordinates from Birkoff."

"Okay, he said none of his staff is here, so we'll be alone," she replied. "I'll buzz you in when you get here, see you later."

Before he could stop himself, Michael blurted out, "Did it happen?"

She froze on the other end of the line, her hand forming a vise around the phone. His blood ran cold when he realized what he'd said. The five seconds it took for her to respond was filled with an icy, uncomfortable stillness.

"Yes." Then with an angry twist of her fingers, she snapped the phone closed.

Turning away from the bed, she slipped back into her dress. Glancing around the room, she immediately spied an unassuming flash drive sitting innocently behind a pile of books on Alfonso's dresser. Prying open the hidden USB port on her phone, she plugged in the hardware, crossing her fingers and silently hoping. File upon files instantly flashed onto the screen and she squinted at the tiny font. Her eyes continued to narrow as she read further and further.

After finding the USB, she ventured out into the hallway and pushed open the door to his study, glad that she had made a mental note of its location. Flipping open his computer, she plugged her phone into its side, praying that Birkoff's tinkering had worked. The words 'data scan' immediately flickered onto the computer screen and she breathed a sigh of relief. Downstairs, a low buzz echoed through the still slumbering house. Catapulting herself out of Alfonso's chair, she flew down the stairs, skidding into the kitchen. After scanning a massive panel of buttons and translating their Italian labels, she mashed one in with a closed fist. Thousands of feet of driveway below her, the iron gates shuddered open, allowing an impatient Michael to drive through. After reaching the courtyard where the house sat, he immediately hopped off his Vespa, and ran up the steps, flinging open the enormous doors of the palazzo. As he attempted to walk in, his tall frame collided with Nikita who had been waiting just behind the entrance.

Her hands—of their own accord—reached out to snake around his waist, as she buried herself in his chest. "You're here."

Suddenly realizing her mistake, she released him and crossed her arms tightly, nails digging into her skin.

"Have you forgiven me already?"

"I still have to think about it," she smiled, moving away slightly and leading him up to Alfonso's study. Halfway into the room, she paused, and then stopped herself from turning to face him. A stupid question was forming on her lips but she couldn't quite bite it back in time before it slipped out of her mouth. "You knew it would happen, so…why'd you ask?"

Michael draped his arm across her shoulders and laughed softly. "Because that's what I'm supposed to do." He slowly leaned in until his lips were almost grazing her ear. "And because I get too emotionally invested in my recruits."

She wriggled out from under his arm and sauntered toward Alfonso's computer, afraid of what she would do if she stayed there a moment longer. "I got some interesting stuff in my phone from some random flash drive lying around his room."

He nodded slowly. "Excellent, anything on the computer yet?"

Peeking at the screen, she slowly scrolled through the long list of documents that had been downloaded onto her phone. "Lots, actually."

He held out his hand. "Let me see."

She tossed her phone at him, before turning around and shutting off the computer. Dimly, a muffled groan echoed through the open door.

"_Shit_!" They both gasped simultaneously.

Quickly, Nikita shoved Michael under the enormous wooden desk. She immediately flitted over to the rows of bookshelves lined against the wall, pretending to be interested in their contents. Alfonso slowly ambled into the room, hand pressed to his neck.

"_Buon giorno_," he said, smiling softly. He was wearing a bathrobe, not securely tied enough to hide his muscular chest.

Turning away from the shelves, she returned his grin, walking over to him, an apologetic smile plastered on her face. "I'm sorry; I woke up early and got bored when you didn't, so I decided to explore a little."

"That's absolutely fine," he said, waving away her apology. He bundled her into his arms and kissed her, tongue lightly scraping across her bottom lip.

Underneath the table, Michael gritted his teeth in frustration. He could distinctly hear them kissing, could picture Cosimo's hands fitting themselves perfectly around her lithe figure. After more excruciatingly torturous seconds, their lips finally broke apart.

"How did you sleep?" Nikita asked, running her fingers down his cheek.

"I slept _very_ well," he whispered lustfully into her ear, sending uncomfortable shivers racing down her spine. "But I woke up this morning to an insane headache."

Underneath the desk, Michael's fingers expertly manipulated the miniscule buttons on Nikita's phone, skimming through the massive amounts of information stored there. His eyes narrowed when he ventured upon a particular file. After thoroughly dissecting it, he slowly drew his gun from the waistband of his pants. Stooping slightly, he slid out from underneath the desk and straightened up, gun pointed at Alfonso's head.


	10. Chapter 10

From the corner of his eye, Alfonso saw a dark figure rear up. Spinning expertly, he grabbed Nikita with one arm, securing it around her waist. With the other, he drew a knife from the pocket of his bathrobe and pressed it against her throat.

"Don't be stupid," he snarled, teeth barred in a menacing growl. "One move and the girl dies."

Michael's insides clenched as he saw the gleaming steel indent into Nikita's skin. It was beyond torture for him to watch. Her skin was glistening with a cold sweat and her wide eyes were desperately pleading for his help.

"Alfonso Cosimo? Nice cover, Aleksandr." Michael snapped, trying to bide his time. "Gogol's gotten more clever."

"I thought so," he scowled back. "I assumed the plastic surgery and spray tanning was a bit much, but apparently, it does the trick."

He shook Nikita violently, the tip of the blade slicing through her skin and drops of crimson blood skimmed slowly down her neck, leaving a pale red trail behind. "Even, your little agent fell for it. Глупая сука."

Michael watched Nikita's eyes widen at the insult, then narrow into cat-like slits. Inwardly, he rejoiced at the murderous look on her face. The last time it had appeared—during one of Amanda's 'tests'—she had kept up iron walls around her subconscious, even until the physical pain had blasted her into unconsciousness and left sickening welts on her wrists and ankles. Whatever happened today, whatever fight exploded amongst them, he knew that she would deliver the last blow, have the last laugh.

"Your accent is impressive. From Russian to Italian? That must have been difficult. So where is the real Alfonso Cosimo?"

Aleksandr laughed harshly. "On the bottom of the Grand Canal with a knife in his back.

" Why do you want Cosimo?"

"Because Division wanted him. I figured when your little agent was just so willing to come to bed with me," he said, dragging his hand delicately over Nikita's collarbone. She shuddered, disgusted.

"You were just as desperate." Michael pointed out, trying to galvanize Alexandr's temper.

"Stop trying to distract me," he snarled back, any traces of the Italian accent gone. "I want you to turn around and face the wall. Do it. Now."

Michael's jaw hardened and he glared at him. "Do you honestly think I'm that stupid?"

Alexandr's eyes were cold; it was rather like staring into the face of a shark. "Turn around or I will gut her like a fish."

He poised the knife menacingly over her heart; the razor-sharp tip hovered dangerously over her skin. "Turn around now. You don't want me to ask again."

Nikita tilted her head ever so slightly; eyes still dark with a wrath that he'd never seen before.

"Don't move!" Alexandr rattled her body violently, the knife pointed hazardously close to her chest.

Slowly, Michael revolved on the spot. He prayed silently and desperately, every fiber of his being teetering nervously. _God Nikki, I hope you have a plan._

Alexandr pulled Nikita's arms behind her, momentarily easing the knife away from her skin. One second was all it took for her to make her move. Clenching one hand into a fist, she threw it downward, hoping it would land in the right spot. A sharp yowl pierced the air and she smiled devilishly. Pirouetting on one leg, she flung the other out, slamming a wheezing and incapacitated Alexandr into a bookshelf. Volumes rained down and Nikita was glad that that shelf only contained hard cover books. She was on top of him in a second, swiftly kicking his knife into a corner. Her own dagger slid out of another hidden pocket. It was instantly pressed against his throat and her mouth curled into a snarl, any trace of compassion she had for 'Alfonso' gone.

"Now," she breathed. "You will tell me what I want to know or _I_ will gut _you_ like a fish."

* * *

"Impressive." Michael was scrolling through the remaining files they had managed to extract from Alexandr. "They even left a fake paper trail of 'Alfonso Cosimo'."

Nikita glanced up at him from behind his computer. "Well, I'm not impressed. He was terrible in bed."

He rolled his eyes, though inside he was beyond smug. "Spare me the details, would ya?"

She slapped the laptop shut, bouncing up from her spot on the floor. Plopping herself on the bed next to him, she pulled impatiently at his hand. "Michael, let's go do something. We're in Venice for another two weeks, in one of the swankiest hotels ever, with an unlimited allowance. Seriously, any honeymooning couple would die for this."

After his failure to respond, she leaned forward and snatched the phone out of his hand. Speeding to a nearby window, she held it out threateningly.

"Nikki, be smart. Think of what you're doing."

"Promise me you'll take me out tonight." Her eyes narrowed when he shook his head, hand still outstretched. The phone slipped treacherously in her grasp.

"Crap! Nik, don't do this to me." He tried to get closer, but she leaned even more precariously out the window.

"Promise me."

He threw up his hands in defeat. "Fine, fine. You win. We'll go out tonight."

"Somewhere nice. That means expensive."

"Maybe."

She beamed at him, lips curled up into a blissful smile. "Good. I'll go change. You should too."

Turning away, she marched into the bathroom, fingers still curled around her phone. He looked down suddenly aware of gray gun powder lightly dusted over his shirt and a tiny blood stain underneath it, a minuscule remnant of Alexandr. He'd burn the shirt later. Yanking it off, he tossed it into his empty suitcase. He pulled a black button-down on and tightened a crimson neck tie around the collar of his shirt. Turning toward the mirror set into the bedroom wall, he smoothed out his collar and slicked his disheveled hair back to its original shape.

Although he would never admit it, Nikita was right. They were in one of the most beautiful cities on the planet and he might as well enjoy the charming company he had been provided with.

"You're getting rusty." Her voice came out from behind him. He started slightly, too preoccupied with his hair to have noticed her entrance.

Twisting away from the mirror, he soaked in his partner's flawless appearance. She was wearing his choice dress, and black stilettos elevated her slender frame. Leaning against the door frame, she smiled flirtatiously at him.

"We match." He said, pointing at their complimentary outfits.

He was right. The bright red of her dress and that of his tie were an easy pair.

"Amanda," she breathed, flushing pink. Popping open her black clutch, she slid her phone in. She then placed it under one arm, hitching it up. His eyes immediately flitted towards her body and her eyes narrowed.

"Don't get any ideas. You're not getting the phone back tonight."

She didn't know it, but he wasn't staring at her purse.

Walking to the doorway, he extended his arm. "Shall we, Mrs. Langston?"

Grinning broadly, she accepted his arm. "We shall, Mr. Langston."

* * *

The limousine slid to the front of the hotel and the chauffeur hopped out, popping open the door with a bow. Michael slid out, Nikita following close behind. Both their mouths were set in stony grimaces. Silently, they walked into the hotel and inside the elevator. The moment the door slid shut, Michael turned on her.

"Finish what you started."

***I'm terrible at writing fight scenes, so I thought that Nikita should just nail the guy in the nuts. **

****if anyone was wondering, Глупая сука is Russian for 'stupid bitch'. **


	11. Chapter 11

**AN: Last Chapter! A bit longer than the other ones though.. Enjoy! :)**

"Finish what you started."

She gulped, wondering how their night out had spiraled them here.

Their evening had begun just pleasantly, both of them drunk on the success of the op. They had feasted on the most exquisite Italian pasta, drank the best and most expensive _Brunello_ available. Afterwards, they chose to stroll through Venice alongside the Grand Canal. Eventually, Nikita pulled them to a bench near the banks of the canal. She moaned as she pulled off her shoes, dropping them unceremoniously to the ground. In a surprise move, Michael drew her feet up onto his lap. They had locked eyes and both of their breathing accelerated. At last, Nikita broke away, choosing to stare at the lights glinting off of the dark water. She couldn't do this, not now. She had just slept with and killed the same man in the past twenty four hours. Still, she couldn't help but allow the soothing ache in her chest to bloom. To further jumble her already muddled mind, Michael began to soothingly rub her exhausted feet.

'Tell me what you're thinking," he whispered, running a hand down her ankle.

"Bad things," she replied, not stopping to catch the words that tumbled out.

His lips twitched. "What kind of bad things?"

"Never mind," she sighed, crossing her arms. "It's nothing."

Nothing that she could tell him. Or anyone. Rumpled sheets. Tangled limbs. Bare shoulders. Parted lips. The images flashed whenever she closed her eyes, as though they were tattooed on the backs of her eyelids.

"Nikki." He leaned forward, eyes piercing into hers. "We don't usually keep stuff from each other."

She took a deep breath. "I can't. I'm sorry."

Drawing her legs away from his loving hands, she inserted them back into her shoes. Standing up, she quickly strode away.

"I'm sorry," she called back again. Tears began to form in her eyes, clouding her vision. She didn't get very far before Michael caught up, catching her arm in his.

"No." He grabbed her shoulders roughly. "Why can't you tell me? Are you in trouble?"

"I might be," she replied cryptically, before pulling herself away and continuing to walk. "Why do you want to know so badly?"

"Nikita, you can't tell me something like that and just walk away."

They had reached the limousine and their chauffeur obediently unlocked the door for them. Sliding in, Nikita immediately retreated to the far corner of the vehicle. Her efforts were futile as Michael followed, trapping her in a corner.

"Tell me now."

She couldn't. What would happen? She valued what she had with Michael more than anything else in the world. Working for Division didn't give you many friends for life. Rejection was something that she'd be fine handling if it wasn't from Michael. And what if Percy found out? The thought of Michael being cancelled flashed through her mind. She didn't mind being cancelled—she didn't exist—but the thought of Michael's life, extinguished at a Cleaner's hand, made her physically ill. She shivered and shoved the notion away, deep into the recesses of her mind, hoping it would never resurface again.

"I can't."

"I'm not backing down on this, you _will_ tell me."

When they'd finally reached the elevator, Nikita braced herself against the brass railing, waiting for the barrage of shouting to ensue. But he didn't shout. Didn't say a word. Michael leaned in, until she was forced to press herself against the wall. His hand found hers, fingers delicately tracing the calluses left there by guns and pistols. He slowly dragged his hand up her arm, painting it with a slow burn. His other arm wrapped around her waist and he pulled her slim body towards him. Pressing his lips to her ear, his hot breath unfurled around her cheek.

"Now, will you tell me?"

Her eyes were closed, arms locked at her sides. Her lips trembled and she cursed inwardly. Thankfully, the elevator's merry 'ding' saved her and she dove away from Michael, stumbling into their suite. He shot after her, catching her elbow, and spinning her back towards him, while simultaneously leaning down. She whirled back to him too quickly and his lips were too close. Stopping herself an inch from his mouth, Nikita froze, her limbs locking themselves into place.

"Michael, I—" The words were throaty and unsure. She gazed deep into his eyes and hoped that he could understand.

Michael leaned forward, allowing his nose to draw a line up her cheek into her hair. He placed a hand on her waist and the other on her cheek, slowly moving his thumb around in its customary circles.

"I know."

Slowly, his lips skipped from her temples to the corner of her lips. She turned her head and their lips met in a chaste kiss, filled with some answers, but dominated by a single question.

And Michael answered it. His hand snaked upward to grasp the zipper and he yanked it down with surprising force. Grabbing at the collar of his shirt, Nikita quickly unbuttoned it with shocking ease.

He pulled her into the bedroom, their remaining clothing forming a Hansel and Gretel trail behind them. Tongues clashed as the door crashed open before Michael pulled back slightly, breathing heavily.

"You know this is a bad idea right?"

Nikita smiled, hand slowly tracing his cheek. "I know. Which is exactly why we're doing it."

She leaned forward, touching her lips to his and they tumbled onto the bed. The contact caused Michael's common sense and his brain to plug back in. He immediately pulled back away from her, already ashamed of his ardent actions.

Nikita' eyes darkened and she slowly sat up. "Did I do something?"

He swallowed hard, trying to ignore the siren's song her body was crooning to him. Slowly shifting himself away from her, he murmured softly, "We—we can't do this."

She automatically froze, the blood running through her veins solidifying. There it was. The rejection that she had so desperately feared and avoided was slapping her across the face.

"Michael," she breathed, not caring that her voice was needy and desperate. She placed her hand tentatively on his arm, fingers trembling.

"No." His voice was gentle, but devoid of emotion. He hastily stood up, running his hand through his hair. "I can't."

The rejection was replaced with a stinging embarrassment, galvanizing her temper. Her fingers were gripping the bed's headboard, knuckles shining white through her skin.

"I forgot that you were Michael," she hissed, pain spearheading its way through her heart.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked, eyes narrowing.

"It's _you_, Michael!" she snarled through her teeth. "Always a stickler for the rules, always following Percy's ass. God, are you even capable of thinking for yourself?"

He stared at her, despair flooding through him. Twin spots of rouge had appeared on her cheeks and her eyes were shining with angry, unshed tears. The veins in her neck were straining and the sculpted muscles of her biceps were rigid. He wanted to hug her, soften her severe stance, mold her body to his. But she flinched away when his hand brushed her wrist.

"Nikki—" he began.

"Don't call me Nikki," she said icily. Raising her head, she gazed at him. Her eyes were empty, devoid of the passionate blaze that always burned incessantly behind them. "And you were right. It would've been a mistake."

He nodded mutely and turned away, yanking the door open. "I'll sleep on the sofa tonight."

The door clicked shut softly and Nikita succumbed to her anguish. Wrapping a pillow in her arms, she buried her face in, letting the unshed tears fall. Never. She had never experienced pain like this. She had gone through drug withdrawal, rape, torture in Amanda's chambers. But nothing compared to the yawning chasm of agony that had opened between them. She whimpered softly before biting down on her lip, muffling the sound. The ache in her chest throbbed desperately. Two weeks left.

Slowly, he slid to the floor, back pressed to the wall. Of course he just _had_ to ruin that moment. His arms were tragically empty, longing to be wrapping themselves around a particular long-legged brunette. He'd already known that he was in too deep, but he was unaware of the fact that he was in _that_ deep. It was cheesy and embarrassing, a feeling that made him want to tunnel into a hole and never have to face her again. And now, she—the newfound love of his life—hated him. Resting his head on his knees, he moaned softly. Two weeks left.

* * *

"W-what?" he asked, shock choking his words. He was aghast, jaw hanging wide open.

"I said—" she repeated testily. "You can sleep in the bed. As long as you don't do anything stupid."

Shrugging his shoulders, he turned away, feigning nonchalance. "Frankly, I prefer the couch. It's been pretty comfortable these past two days."

She laughed maliciously. "I knew you'd be too much of a coward."

He couldn't resist the jibe. "Fine then, I accept your offer."

"Okay then." She gave herself a mental high-five. The other day, while rummaging through her suitcase, she had discovered that Amanda had packed none of the recruit clothes she was accustomed to wearing. Her hands had come up with piece after piece of lacy, silky lingerie and no sweatpants. A delicious plan blossomed in her mind and she laughed devilishly. The next two weeks were going to be extremely entertaining.

Nikita emerged from the bathroom and lay down on the bed, stretching luxuriously. She watched slyly as Michael's Adam's apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed.

"What?" she asked innocently, cocking her head to the side.

"Nik, why are you doing this to me?" His hands clenched, balling the sheets up between his fists.

"Amanda didn't give me a lot of options," she replied, stroking the plum satin. "And besides, it's too hot for anything else." She pointed at his forehead. "See? You're not even wearing a shirt and you're already sweating."

And with that she rolled over and muffled a giggle into the pillow.

Michael breathed a sigh of aggravation before laying his head onto his pillow. Glancing over at Nikita, he suppressed another groan. The straps of the rich purple babydoll curled gracefully around her shoulders and the flared skirt was draped delicately over her thighs. Her hair rippled softly over her pillow, exposing the side of her face. He could see that her cheek was turned up in a grin. She stretched languidly and the hem of the nightgown crept up several centimeters. He swallowed thickly. It would be a long night.

As the night progressed, Nikita's stance relaxed and she curled up into a ball, her body inching itself closer to Michael. Unsurprisingly, he hadn't slept well, dozing fitfully before jerking himself awake. He rotated his neck to see her face turned toward him, lips slightly parted, eyes still closed. Leaning forward, he brushed a kiss against her nose before sliding out of the bed and shutting the door quietly behind him. The moment the door closed, Nikita's eyes shot open and she sat up immediately. She stared at the closed door, confusion and shock written plainly on her features.

* * *

Nikita awoke slowly the next morning, keeping her eyes squeezed shut. She stretched slowly, kneeing Michael in the stomach. Her eyes flew open to see him rubbing at his muscled abdomen, an expression of mock irritation playing out on his features.

"Michael," she gasped. "I thought you—" She snapped her mouth shut, biting her lip.

He looked at her, suspicion in his narrowed eyes. "You thought I what?"

"Never mind." She slid out of the bed, hurriedly easing herself into a robe. Glancing at him from the corner of her eyes, she saw his mouth curled into an unusual smile. He seemed to be in an awfully good mood, considering the embarrassment and unease that still lingered between them and the large red mark plastered on his abdomen.

"Percy called," he said nonchalantly.

She didn't turn around. "What did he say?" she asked, still facing the wall.

"He said he's ridiculously proud of you," Michael said.

She revolved on the spot, eyebrows quirked up. "_He_ said that?" she laughed, incredulous.

"Sort of. I only modified it a bit." Michael grinned, his blue eyes gleaming.

She rolled her eyes at that. Never in a million years would Percy bother to pay any of his agents a compliment. The utmost praise he could give out was not to cancel someone.

"In fact," Michael continued. "He's so proud of you that he's going to assign you another mission."

She planted her hands on her hips. "Another mission?" she snarled through gritted teeth. "Well, you can tell him to go shove that mission back up his—"

"_Nikita_," Michael said warningly. He took her hand and pulled her down onto the bed next to him. His expression softened and he smiled reassuringly. "I know you're exhausted and we have…issues, but this is just intel, nothing bad." He massaged her shoulders gently. "And I'll be with you the entire way."

"Great," she muttered sarcastically under her breath. Another mission. With Michael. She felt the desperate need to get roaring drunk and pass out for a couple weeks. She exhaled noisily, and stood up, releasing herself from his comforting hands. "Fine. But no married couple BS."

"Actually…"

"No," she groaned, massaging her temples.

"Sorry," he apologized. "But I haven't even told you where we're going." He handed her a manila folder and she flipped it open to reveal a photograph of an island swathed in palm trees and towering hotels.

"Hawaii," she breathed.

**AN: I hope you enjoyed my first fic! Think I should keep going? **


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